The Stewardess: Timbuktu
by ko-writes
Summary: Cabin Pressure. Part three of my series 'The Stewardess', centred around an original character, Flora Jones. The episode Timbuktu - with the addition of Flora and some added scenes. TW: Vomiting, stress, Starvation, Chewing gum, Gorging, stomach cramps. Martin/Flora.
1. Chapter 1

"No, this is educational. So, welcome to round two of Beat the Manuals!" Martin announced happily from the other side of the flight deck door. Flora chuckled, Martin was in a good mood, she'd ask him soon; away from Douglas, though – she didn't need him to get jealous, they were competitive enough as it was.

She opened the flight deck door. "Hello, gentlemen. Arthur asked me to ask you if you needed teas or coffee but we only have around twenty minutes left, if I'm correct, so I've come to annoy you instead."

"Oh, thank God!" Douglas yelled in relief.

"Only because you're losing Beat the Manuals," Flora smiled fondly.

"How do you know I'm losing?" Douglas demanded indignantly.

"Because it's Beat the Manuals; when was the last time you picked up a manual?" Flora smirked.

"I will put you over my knee, young lady; but I think you'd enjoy it too much," Douglas winked.

"No, I'm dominant – I'll be the one doing the spanking Mr Richardson." Flora couldn't help it when that slid from her lips. Wait until the next flight to ask Martin – it'd look wrong.

The flight deck door opened again to reveal Carolyn and Arthur. "Drivers, how long 'til we land?"

"We've just started the descent, Carolyn, so about twenty minutes," Martin informed. The professional in the uniform – he already made Flora go weak at the knees.

"Excellent. Now, Douglas, I am having lunch with Herc. Can you give Arthur a lift home?" Carolyn asked.

"Sorry. Happy though I always am to pick up the pieces around your hectic love life, I'm afraid as soon as we land I'm driving to Twickenham. I've got tickets for the rugby World Cup final."

"Cup final? But… doesn't that mean it's Birling Day?" Arthur asked.

"Birling day?" Flora frowned.

"A client who hires us every year to take him to the World Cup final," Martin informed Flora.

"He also gives really good tips," Arthur beamed.

"Carolyn, haven't you told him?" Martin inquired.

"Told me what?"

"Arthur, there isn't going to be a Birling Day this year," Martin reported sadly.

"What?! Why not?!" Arthur demanded in high-pitched in indignation.

"Because this year the final is in Twickenham," Martin shrugged slightly in that adorably shy, one-shouldered way he did.

"Well, so?"

"So, Mr. Birling lives in Sussex. To get to Fitton he would have to drive through Twickenham; and while he certainly has more money than sense, I don't think anyone has that much more," Carolyn

"Oh, no. I love Birling Day." Arthur sounded so… disappointed.

"Me too," Martin sighed.

"Do you?" Douglas raised an eyebrow.

"Well, no, but I could do with the money," Martin admitted.

 _'Why does Martin need money?'_ Flora asked internally.

"True. And I wouldn't say no to a free bottle of Talisker," Douglas smirked.

"Talisker? As in the whiskey?" Flora frowned. ' _Anytime you wish to include me!'_

"The bottles of expensive whisky I provide for Mr. Birling's exclusive use are not 'free', Douglas. They are stolen from me,"

"And therefore free to me."

"Fitton Tower, this is Golf Echo Romeo Tango India established on the ILS," Martin reported to the tower.

Flora rolled her eyes and went back to take a seat. Douglas always struck her as someone who could lead a side-line as a charismatic thief.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Text

"All right, how are we doing? Where are the others?" Carolyn interrogated Douglas.

"Fine. Martin and Flora are _both_ panically filing a flight plan, and I've sent Arthur into Fitton to buy a book about Timbuktu," Douglas reported.

"What on earth for?" Carolyn sighed.

"He's in a helpful mood."

"Yes, but why do you need a book?"

"I don't. I need a temporary absence of Arthur in a helpful mood. And I have just given away a ticket to watch the Cup Final in Twickenham in order that I can fly two and a half thousand miles to the heart of Africa and watch it there," Douglas grumbled.

"Oh, dear. Did the poor little pilot have to fly an aeroplane?" Carolyn drawled, voice dripping with fake sympathetically before adding, more sternly, "You're getting paid, aren't you, plus an enormous tip?"

"I know, I know. And a bottle of Talisker."

"No. Not a bottle of Talisker."

"We'll see, shall we?"

"No. I mean there won't be any Talisker to steal. I have to order in the twenty-five year old stuff specially, and there's no time."

"Oh. Well, in that case, perhaps I can help. I happen to have a few spare bottles knocking about… for some reason."

"Oh. Well. That would be very useful. Thank you," Carolyn admitted hesitantly, reluctantly.

"Shall we say two hundred pounds a bottle?"

"What?! No! I'm not paying you for the whisky you stole from me in the first place!"

The portacabin door opened to show a frantic Captain and an anxious steward, pilot-in-training. "Guys, there's a problem."

"Then solve it," Carolyn huffed.

"We _can't_ solve it," Flora sighed.

"Have you tried to solve it?" Carolyn asked haughtily.

"No," Martin began.

"Then you don't know if you can solve it, do you?"

"There's a civil war in Mali. So Timbuktu's closed to all air traffic," Martin informed.

"… Right. So you can't solve it."

"Thank you," Flora and Martin sniffed in unison.

"Douglas, can you solve it?"

"I appreciate your faith, Carolyn, but I… I'm not sure even I can broker a peace deal in a civil war. Not in time for kick-off, anyway."

"Fine. I knew it was too good to be true. Who's going to tell Birling?"

"Wait! Hang on – we can't just give up!" Martin insisted.

"Well, you two were the ones who said it was insolvable," Carolyn rolled her eyes.

"By us, not by you two. There must be something we can do," Martin sighed, "Oh, I could really use that two thousand quid."

 _'Again… Why does Martin need money that bad? He's the captain,'_ Flora thought.

"I know, I know, but what can we do?" Douglas asked.

"Well, I don't… I don't suppose… I don't suppose there's anywhere that's a bit like Timbuktu?" Martin asked.

"What, d'you mean also famous for being far away?" Carolyn inquired.

"No-no-no, I didn't mean that. I mean, like, it… as in… looks like it, a bit, if you didn't really know much about Timbuktu…"

"Martin?!" Carolyn seemed surprised.

"Martin!" Douglas was impressed.

"No, I know, I know, I didn't mean it. I'm just… I'm just trying to, you know, come up with ideas" Martin shrugged.

"No, Martin! That's inspired!" Douglas announced.

"Is it?"

"You're a genius! An unexpectedly evil genius!" Douglas beamed proudly.

"Martin, I could kiss you!" Flora smiled, "In fact…" She grabbed Martin's shoulders and planted a large kiss in the middle of his forehead and he blushed immediately.

"You mean you know somewhere that we could…" Carolyn prompted.

"Oh, plenty of places!" Douglas commented, "There's a little airfield on the island of Sardinia, for instance – Guspini. It's perfect! It's on the edge of the second biggest desert in Europe, and the chap who runs it is an old friend of mine."

"Of course he is…" Martin muttered.

"Couple of hundred Euros and I'm sure he'll be only too pleased to be Timbuktuan for an hour or two. Three hundred and the engineers can probably knock up a 'Welcome to Timbuktu' sign."

"No, but that's fraud!" Martin almost squeaked. Flora started to panic slightly; she was loose, sure, but she wasn't going to go break the law!

"Isn't it, though? That's why I'm so delighted you suggested it," Douglas smiled smugly.

"I didn't mean… I-I wasn't seriously…"

"Oh, don't spoil it!"

Carolyn took a breath. "Douglas, look: it's a nice idea, but we cannot possibly –"

"Look, Birling's always roaring drunk by the time we land anyway, and all he wants is a room to watch the rugby in and a sign saying, "Welcome to Timbuktu", both of which Sardinia can provide – and neither of which, incidentally, Timbuktu can provide."

"But won't he be a bit suspicious that everyone speaks Italian?" Carolyn asked.

"Why would he be? Mali was under Italian rule for decades."

"Oh. Was it?" Martin inquired.

"No, Douglas is being sneaky," Flora sighed.

"But if you didn't know that, Martin, why would he? It's a great idea, honestly! I don't know whether I'm more proud of you for thinking of it, or worried that I didn't."

"I-I suppose if we got him really drunk…" Carolyn began.

"That's the spirit! And, of course, that's where the twenty-five year old Talisker will come in so handy."

"Oh, no, please, you two – no Talisker stuff! Not if we're actually gonna do this," Martin groaned.

"Would you care to take one bottle, madam, or two?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Text

"All right, he's in. Do the briefing, Martin," Carolyn commanded.

"Right. Destination is Guspini, code named Timbuktu," Oh God, code names? It was like some spy thriller and the uniform did not help Flora's state of mind, "For the avoidance of doubt, crew should note that any time Timbuktu is referred to, Guspini is meant."

"Yes. I believe we're up to speed with the deception," Douglas deadpanned.

"In the unlikely circumstance the actual Timbuktu is referred to, the name is to be repeated twice," Martin stated.

 _'God, just imagine him in a suit with a Martini… No I like the uniform,'_ Flora thought.

"How d'you mean?" Douglas asked.

"Timbuktu-Timbuktu," Martin frowned, it was obvious, wasn't it?

"… means Guspini."

"No! 'Timbuktu' means Guspini; 'Timbuktu-Timbuktu' means Timbuktu," Martin clarified.

"Oh, I see. But you only repeated it once," Douglas pointed out.

 _'Oh, God. Seriously, Douglas?'_ Flora almost groaned.

"I didn't. I said 'Timbuktu-Timbuktu'."

"Exactly. You said it, and then you repeated it. If you'd repeated it twice, you'd have said, 'Timbuktu-Timbuktu-Timbuktu'."

Martin and Flora both groaned, they were both on edge anyway.

"Yes, excuse me, but I'm trying to run an airline here, not an owl sanctuary. Get on with it!" Carolyn ordered. Thank God for the woman the boys called 'The Alpha Dog'.

"All right. The alternate is Palermo, code named Ouagadougou," Martin briefed.

"And if the real Ouagadougou is meant?" Douglas asked petulantly.

"I really can't imagine circumstances under which we'll need to refer to the real Ouagadougou," Martin frowned again.

"All right, but a good pilot is prepared for any eventuality, however…"

" _All right_! The code for the real Ouagadougou is Ouagadougou-Ouagadougou.

"Thank God we're not going to Baden-Baden."

"Martin!" Flora called to the captain, "I'd like some explanations…"

"Oh… W-why?" Martin stuttered.

"Maybe because they still haven't been explained. Why were you lot talking about whiskey earlier?"

Martin sighed, "Every single Birling day, Douglas steals the expensive Talisker whiskey Carolyn orders for Mr Birling, then he tends to sell it on…"

"Alright. Now, last question, why do you need more money?"

"I have to go do the walk-round, excuse me…"

"Martin!" But he was gone. Flora sighed, just what the hell was going on?


	4. Chapter 4

They were in flight when Arthur approached Mr Birling. "Er, Mr. B?"

"Go away," Mr Birling grunted.

"Yeah, will do. Er, but first, can myself draw yourself's kindly attention to the sign that the captain has kindly en-illuminated in regard to the fastenation of your seatbelt during the current highly-unlikely event of turbulence?"

"What?

"Could you do your seatbelt up?" Flora called from the galley with a roll of her eyes.

"Certainly not! Do I look like a girl?" Birling scowled, not realising the presence of a new member of staff.

"Seatbelts aren't just for girls," Flora swanned in.

"Well, ding dong…" Mr Birling leered, making Flora a little uncomfortable, "Aren't you a pretty little thing; and those eyes..."

"Yes, yes; husky dog eyes," Flora dismissed, but internally smiled at the memory, "But I must ask you to put your seatbelt on."

"Well then," Mr Birling replied curtly, making no move to fasten his seatbelt.

"Okay, well, it doesn't really matter…" Arthur began.

"Arthur!" Flora reprimanded.

"Right, yes, sorry, it does really matter these days," Arthur tried.

"Since when?"

"Since Flora said so."

"I don't want my seatbelt on," Mr Birling pouted.

"Oh, sorry sir; I was under the impression that you wanted to not injure yourself in the event of turbulence," Flora raised a plucked eyebrow and clicked his seatbelt on for him.

"Did you just…"

"Protect you from harm in case of a bumpy ride? Yes I did," Flora stated evenly as Arthur gaped in awe.

"Go get me a drink," Birling ordered.

Flora rolled her eyes and went to get cheap whiskey to pass off as Talisker. Tap! Oh no he didn't…


	5. Chapter 5

Flora rushed into the flight deck, "Uh… Hi Martin, Douglas. Would you – Would you like some company? For the rest of the flight?"

"Flora? What's wrong?" Douglas frowned turning around to look at her.

"What? Wrong?! Nothing's wrong! Nothing at all! I'm fine!" Flora babbled. She didn't like men taking advantage like that, ridiculous as it sounded.

"You see Flora, you have the same fault as our dear captain," Douglas began.

"Oh?"

"You're an awful liar when you're wound up," Douglas informed.

"Well… I'm not wound up per say… It's just Mr Birling…" Flora sighed.

"Oh, don't pay him any mind, he's always like that," Douglas dismissed.

"I bet he wasn't like that with you lot…" Flora bit her lip.

"What did he say, Flora?" Martin asked.

"It wasn't what he _said_ really… He was just, uh, looking at me weird and then he touched me and –"

"Flora… When you say he touched you…" Douglas' eyes were dark and Martin looked ready to attack.

"Oh! No, no, no; not like that. Well… Not really. He sort of… tapped me on the behind…" Flora grimaced.

"What?!" Martin gaped.

"And he may have… squeezed a little bit…"

"I'm going to kill him!" Martin announced.

"You get up, you'll kill us all in a fiery blast with explode-y plane bits," Douglas warned.

"I'm fine," Flora dismissed, "I would just like to stay here for now. I'm not going to lose you a good client because he's a little… grabby."

"Flora, that's insane," Douglas gasped. He thought Flora had more sense than that.

"I just want to stay into the flight deck for a bit; if that's alright…"

"… Fine…" Martin mumbled, the muscles in his jaw tense.


	6. Chapter 6

Douglas decided a word game might help with the awkwardness in the flight deck. "Okay, countries beginning with –"

"What? No! Douglas, we don't have time for games. Can you just concentrate, please," Martin stressed.

"What is Douglas meant to be concentrating on?" Flora asked.

"On the crime! On getting away with the crime!" Martin bit his lip anxiously. Flora couldn't help but think how adorable he looked.

"I'd prefer to use the word 'scheme'," Douglas corrected.

"As do I, for a cleaner conscious of the whole thing…" Fora added.

"Yes, well, I'd prefer to use the word 'hat'. But it's not a hat; it's a crime!" Martin sniffed.

"Martin, relax. I've done things like this hundreds of times," Douglas stated.

"Yes, and you got sacked from Air England," Martin pointed out.

"Oh God; we're going to prison, aren't we?" Flora groaned.

"I only got caught once. I almost always didn't. Trust me: it's a perfectly good scheme and it's all going to be fine," Douglas assured the captain and stewardess, who both groaned.

"… Oh my God. What if he looks out of the window?" Martin panicked.

"Mmm?"

"Well, when we're landing. What if he sees we're landing on an island? Africa's not an island! Right…" Martin pressed the intercom button.

"Er, Martin. Are you about to make an announcement telling Mr. Birling not to look out of the window?" Douglas asked.

"Of course I am!"

"Oh God..." Flora groaned.

"Just maybe run that past your internal psychologist first," Douglas advised.

The flight deck door opened to reveal Carolyn, "All right, drivers, where are we?"

"About an hour out from Timbuktu," Douglas reported.

"What? But I thought the whole point was…"

"Although of course still a fair way from Timbuktu-Timbuktu," Douglas smirked.

"Oh, for heaven's sake."

"And how is Mr. Birling?" Douglas inquired.

"Is he awake? Is he drunk?" Martin inquired anxiously before dropping his voice to a stage whisper, "Does he suspect?"

"Oh, calm down, Martin! Course he doesn't suspect. Until a few hours ago, he thought Timbuktu was either Chinese or fictional! However, he is fast sobering up..." Carolyn admitted.

It was fair to say Martin was panic-stricken... "What? Oh, no-no-no-no-no-no! He needs to be drunk! That's the key to the whole crime!"

"Well, you know what might help with that," Douglas smirked.

"Yes, I do. So – and can we please do this with the bare minimum of gloating – I will buy the Talisker."

"An excellent choice. Madam could not have made a wiser decision."

"I said the bare minimum."

"That'll be three hundred pounds."

"Three hun… You said two hundred before."

"Ah, that was the price in Fitton. Alas, the supply is scarcer up here."

"Fine. Three hundred."

"Excellent."

"Well, get the bottle out, then."

"Madam seems a little unfamiliar with how the whole buying process works."

"Oh, I'll pay you when we get back."

Douglas laughed sarcastically, "Madam is a humourist."

"Guys, please. Can we try and focus on the main -" Martin tried, before being interrupted.

"I don't carry that sort of cash on trips."

"Yes you do."

"Well, show me the bottle and I'll give you the money."

"Better yet, give me the money and I'll get out the bottle."

"I've changed my mind. I don't want it."

"Just as you please. But I warn you: the prices are only going to rise."

"Are you two always like this?" Flora asked.

"Seriously, please, will both of you forget the whisky and concentrate on getting away with the CRIME?!" Martin panicked, increasingly frantically.

"Martin, for someone who can't bear to hear the word 'Sardinia', you are making very free with the word 'crime'," Carolyn rolled her eyes, "And why aren't you helping Arthur with Mr Birling, Flora?"

"I... Uh..."

"Mr Birling was acting inappropriately towards her, Carolyn," Douglas informed. Flora gasped; she didn't want to lose them business!

"It's fine; really!" Flora protested, "I'm a professional; I can deal with it."

"Flora... What did he do?" Carolyn asked.

"I'm overreacting."

"No you're not," Martin and Douglas objected.

"Flora. What. Happened?" Carolyn asked.

"Well... It was just the way he... Looked at me..." She twisted her silver bracelet around her wrist, and mumbled, "And he sort of... tapped me on the behind... Squeezed a bit..."

"... You don't have to go out there again if you don't want to..." Carolyn nodded. Douglas and Martin stared like she had grown an extra head, "I used to be a stewardess, I know how it feels. She doesn't have to go back out there again."

"Thank you, Carolyn."


	7. Chapter 7

The door to the plane opened. "So, Martin, Flora; what do you think of Timbuktu?" Douglas asked.

"I think we might just pull this off..." Flora commented, her confidence coming back.

"It-it does look quite, you know, middle-of-Africa-ish, doesn't it, actually, doesn't it?" Martin nodded quietly, nervous.

"What does?" Arthur questioned behind them, making Flora and Martin jump.

"Er, th-this does," Martin stuttered.

"Oh, yeah, well I can explain that, Skip. Er, Timbuktu is, in fact, in the middle of Africa, so, er, that's why it _looks_ like this," Arthur explained.

"Thank you, Arthur," Martin muttered. Flora rolled her eyes fondly.

"Don't mention it. I read the whole page of that book. I'm basically an expert on Timbuktu now," Arthur boasted cheerfully.

Carolyn helped Mr Birling down the steps, "Right, there we go, Mr Birling. Easy does it."

"Can't you turn that down?" The drunk complained.

"The sun? Not very easily, I fear," Carolyn stated.

Martin positioned himself protectively in front of Flora, a guard dog ready to bite if his mistress was so much as touched by Mr Birling (Those mental images were quite enticing, actually). It was all the stewardess could do not to swoon like some melodramatic princess in an 80s film.

 **"** Hello! Hello!" Douglas' friend greeted in his Italian accent.

"Who's this, now?" Mr Birling asked.

"A-ha!" Douglas smiled.

"Welcome to Timbooktoo," The Italian greeted.

"Yes, yes, all right," Mr Birling waved off.

"Because that is where you are, and we are glad to 'ave you 'ere in our glorious country of Timbooktoo," The Italian welcomed. Flora bit back a grimace.

"Town," Douglas corrected him quietly.

"Town?"

"Town."

"… _town_ of Timbooktoo," The Italian corrected, returning to regular volume, "See here our welcoming sign."

"What sign?" Mr Birling questioned, squinting against the light.

"That one. The one that says Welcome to Timbooktoo."

"Mmm. Well…" Mr Birling mumbled.

"No, no! No, have a proper look! We spent _ages_ on that.

"Now then, you… What's your name?" Mr Birling enquired.

"Giancarlo -"

" _Is_ it, though?" Douglas interrupted.

"Oh, no-no-no-no, it's, uh, it's, uh, er…"

"Quick as you like."

"Mandela."

"Oh God," Flora muttered to Douglas. Her brown eye full of worry, but her blue eye looked close to tears.

"Terrific," Douglas sighed, resignedly.

"Right, Mandela, you've got the rugby here, have you?" Mr Birling asked.

"Well, er, of course. Italy's first rugby World Cup final in history – everyone in the country is watching,"

"Really? Why?" Mr Birling questioned.

"Ah, well, you have to remember Mali was part of the Italian Empire for a long time. The ties run deep," Douglas lied.

"Oh. Was it?" Mr Birling asked.

"Er, no, Douglas, you're thinking of France. Mali was in the _French_ Empire," Arthur informed. _Oh God no_.

"No, Arthur…" Douglas laughed slightly.

"Yeah, no, definitely. It was in my book."

"Well, Mr. Birling, I think that concludes the greetings," Douglas finished.

"Something odd's going on here," Mr Birling scowled.

"No it isn't!" Martin dismissed frantically.

"Not at all," Douglas added. Flora, wisely, stayed silent.

"Where you fellows have got lucky is that the match is about to start, so I don't care," Mr Birling dismissed.

"An attitude that does you great credit. Shall we escort you to the crew room?" Douglas asked.

"I certainly would like that little filly to escort me," Mr Birling smiled lecherously at Flora. The stewardess swallowed a lump in her throat.

Martin reached discretely for her hand and squeezed it reassuringly, dropping it quickly to avoid detection.

The nervous butterflies competed with the soft beat of the ones Martin's touch had stirred. Her stomach rolled, making her feel ill.

"Come on girl, out in front; you're not one for brains, are you?" Mr Birling mockingly 'soothed'.

"I have a PhD," Flora muttered.

"Out in front," Mr Birling ordered, "If you put a bit more swing in those lovely hips, you might get an even bigger tip."

If Flora didn't feel sick before, she did now. She thought that she was going to start retching on the tarmac. Martin looked ready to rip Mr Birling's throat out, but Douglas had a steady hold on his shoulder. "Flora, didn't you say you needed to check the stock in GERTI?" Carolyn suggested.

Flora was grateful for the escape. "Y-yes! I did."

"Take Arthur with you," Carolyn advised and Flora dragged Arthur to the plane as quickly as she could.

"Flora?" Arthur enquired.

As soon as they were in GERTI, Flora ran to the small bathroom, locking the door quickly and throwing herself the her knees in front of the bowl. She retched, each one burning and painful, bringing up acidic bile. "Flora?" Arthur called from the other side of the door.

Flora choked back a sob as she gasped for air, her chest too tight and painful. She was going to be fine. Breathe. Just breathe.


	8. Chapter 8

Flora walked frailly over to the two MJN pilots at the bar, Arthur escorting her. "Flora?" Martin gasped. She was so pale and a lock of wavy chestnut hair tumbled into her forehead. "Are you alright?"

"I may have threw up a little..." Flora admitted, her voice hoarse from the fiery vomit.

"And cried a lot," Arthur added, features set into a frown.

"Thank you Arthur," Flora sighed, "Do either of you two have any chewing gum?"

Martin dug into his jacket pocket, and removed a small foil packet, "Is peppermint ok?"

"Anything to get the taste out..." Flora coughed. She hadn't eaten in... Two days? Yes, two days. She spent most of her time studying for her CPL in two weeks and then her alarm went off late today... So, in short, she was starving and empty; even more so after being sick. "Can we get some food? I think I'm going to faint..." She swayed slightly on her feet.

Martin and Douglas each caught her by the arms, steadying her. "Flora... You're a bit thin..." Douglas observed.

"Just been busy studying. I get... Lost in my head sometimes..." Flora muttered.

"God..." Martin gasped.

"It's fine," Flora dismissed, "It happened during my GCSEs, it happened during my A-levels, it happened on and off all the way through University and I've managed not to die of malnutrition yet."

"Flora... That's not ok," Martin frowned, helping to set her down into a seat.

"He's right, Flora. You need to eat," Douglas stated.

"I just forget when I'm studying. I'll be back on my equilibrium in two weeks..." Flora waved off.

"Sir, permission to bump Flora up to beta dog when it comes to the cheese tray?" Douglas asked Martin.

"Up to you, you always win it off me," Martin shrugged.

"No! I can't do that, it's for you two!" Flora refused.

"Please Flora..." The look in Martin's eyes.

"Fine, but I'm going to leave most of it for you."

"Not if we can help it," Douglas smiled.

Martin drew her into a quick hug. It was comforting and smelt of cinnamon and aeroplane fuel - distinctly _Martin_ \- but she could also feel his ribs...


	9. Chapter 9

Martin squeezed his hands together nervously as he servayed the room looking for Flora.

She was sitting by the bar, a plate of chips next to her. Martin smiled slightly; she was a vision even when slumped over a plate, gorging her food... Wait, what!

Martin rushed to her side, easing her up gently, "It's alright Flora... Easy... Calm down."

"Sorry, sorry, sorry -"

"Flora, don't apologise. It's fine."

"I'm sorry, I eat like a bloody feral animal sometimes..."

"Flora, tell me the truth; when you said you ate two days ago, what did you eat?" Martin's brow creased in worry and his mouth hung slightly open.

Flora almost doubled over as a stab of hunger hit her in the gut. Tears came to her eyes. "... An apple..."

Martin took a deep breath. An apple?"

Flora nodded and tried to force her way back to the food. She was so hungry. Martin kept a firm hold and she whimpered; it hurt, she needed to eat.

"And when was your last _proper_ meal?" Martin asked, willing himself to ignore Flora's heartbreaking whimpers.

"A week ago..." She admitted. Martin gaped at her. It was only a week! Cousin Sherly always went longer, and she knew that was stupid and she'd never not eat intentionally, but she just forgot.

Martin's arm went slack and she took her chance. She dove towards the food and ate as fast as she could. She was so hungry! She needed more!

Martin shook himself out of his stupor and tried to calm Flora down. "Flora, please; I know you're hungry, but you need to slow down or your stomach will cramp."

Flora gasped as Martin's words became reality. She tightened her arms around her middle and bent double, tears in her eyes. Her abdomen was slightly distended and there was something akin to roundness beneath her forearms.

"Oh Flora... It's alright, it's happened to me before, ok? Let's get you somewhere more private and I'll give you a hand, alright?" Martin's words were soft and his voice kind.

'He's just so kind. He said he's had this too... And he's so thin... Does that mean he has a - a...' Flora couldn't even finish that thought.

* * *

Flora and Martin had retreated behind a parked truck. She reclined, back against Martin's chest, as his strong, nimble hands worked at her distended stomach. It hurt, she deserved it for being so stupid, but he whispered kind words into her hair.

She wished she could lean back and kiss him; but this was just one experienced friend helping another.

Her whimpers and gasps receded as the pain finally numbed. "Better?" Martin asked.

"Thank you..."

Martin buried her face in his neck. "Please promise me you'll try and eat more. Regular meals are good. Do what you can; reminders on your phone, post-it notes, anything to help you remember."

 _'Is that what you do?'_ She almost asked, but thought better of it. She nodded wordlessly instead.


	10. Chapter 10

Flora was still relaxing against Martin. Her stomach still hurt, but not as much. "Martin..." Flora began.

"Yes, Flora?" Martin rubbed her shoulder.

"I have some tablets in my handbag in the flight deck, could you go get them for me?" Flora asked, hating how ridiculously _small_ she sounded.

"Ok, I'll get you some water, too," Martin smiled, "Stay here and relax..." He shifted from behind her and helped her up to sit on the truck's bumper. He strode towards GERTI and Flora smoothed up her arms, Martin was so lovely and warm to lay against...

* * *

Martin came back ten minutes later with Flora's tablets and a glass of water; Flora had closed her eyes for a second, which turned into a minute, and she eventually fell asleep.

Martin softly shook her arm, "Flora..." He said softly. Flora shifted slightly and hummed. "Come on Flora, it's time to wake up..." He smiled, Flora was adorable.

She opened her eyes and blinked slowly, eyelashes brushing her cheeks, "Hey," She smiled lazily, her eyes shining in the Italian sun.

"Hey," Martin laughed, "Here, have some water..." He put the glass to her lips and slowly tipped the water into her mouth tentatively.

The water was so cool and refreshing. "Thank you," She breathed.

"I brought your tablets too; do you still think you need them?" Martin asked. Flora nodded and Martin popped two out of the packet and on to his palm, "Here we are..." He helped her take them and swallow the water.

"Sorry... Tired..." Flora sighed.

"I'd like to say you have some time for a rest, but you don't. Mr Birling wants to see the sights..." Martin informed. That woke Flora up like a bucket of cold water.

"What?!" She squeaked, "But... But..."

"Douglas always thinks of something; it'll be fine. You don't have to come, I'll stay here and look after you," Martin shrugged in his one-shouldered way.

"No, I'll come; he'll think something's wrong if I don't... But can - can you...?"

"Yes, I'll protect you from Mr Birling," Martin promised.


	11. Chapter 11

They had all piled into a rented car. Martin was driving, Mr Birling was in the passenger seat and Douglas, Arthur, Carolyn and Flora were in the back, Flora haphazardly sat sideways in Douglas's lap. "Yellow car," Arthur pointed out.

"Can't you do something to stop him saying that?" Mr Birling huffed.

"Trust me: there is no power on Earth," Carolyn stated wisely.

"It's funny, though: it was another Fiat," Arthur stated.

"Was it really?" Douglas drawled sarcastically.

"Yeah! Loads of Fiats, aren't there? I had no idea they were so popular in Timbuktu…" Arthur pondered.

"Arthur –" Martin began.

"It's just, my book was saying that most transport is still camels and donkeys, but I haven't seen a camel all journey!" Arthur explained.

"I did warn you, you might not," Douglas reminded. Flora felt more bile creep up her throat.

"I'll call out if I see one," Arthur smiled.

"Do not do that!" Mr Birling huffed.

"No, no, it's fine. I don't mind. I'll make it part of the game. Are camels yellow? They're sort of yellow-ish, aren't they – kind of yellowy-browny. Is there a name for that colour?" Arthur asked.

"Yes, dear. It's called 'camel'," Carolyn informed.

"Oh, brilliant! So if I see one, I can just say, 'Camel camel!'" Arthur beamed.

"Good idea. And that way we'll know it's a real camel," Douglas mocked.

"Douglas," Carolyn warned tetchily

"Oh dear, the road's getting really steep, isn't it?" Arthur observed.

"Yes, well, these, er, rough desert pathways… it's-it's not surprising they're a bit, um…" Carolyn stuttered.

"Well, it is a bit surprising, Mum, because the book was saying the Sahara's one of the flattest places in the world!" Arthur exclaimed.

"You've really been getting into that book, haven't you?" Martin inquired nervously.

"Yeah. Well, Mum's been saying for years I don't read enough, so I thought I'd –"

"… you thought you'd start now. Great. Okay, I've got a game: let's see who can stay the most shut-up for longest," Martin sighed, exasperated.

"No, I'm terrible at that. No, you lot play, though. I'll keep you amused. … Oh, look! Another pizzeria! They really love their pizza in Mali, don't they? That's the fourth one we've seen."

"Yes, and you've drawn attention to every single one," Carolyn stated, resigned

"Yeah, well, because it's so surprising! 'Cause like I told you, Mali was part of the French Empire, so you'd think, if anything, there would be more –"

The car screeched to a halt. "Oh dear. The car's stuck," Martin lied.

Arthur frowned, "Is it? It doesn't seem…"

"Yes! It's stuck! Everyone out and help push. Not-not you, Mr. Birling, of course. You're-you're our guest," Martin smiled politely.

They got out of the car, Martin helping Flora out by offering his hand.

"Arthur, please. SHUT UP!" Martin whispered urgently.

"What? I didn't say anything," Arthur protested.

"You've done nothing but say things since we started," Douglas muttered.

"Oh, you mean my interesting facts about Timbuktu."

"Arthur, we are not in Timbuktu. We are in Sardinia, which is an island in Italy," Carolyn informed.

"Sorry we lied Arthur…" Flora apologised.

"Yes, sorry," Martin joined in.

Arthur was stunned into silence, then gasped, "… I thought we were …"

"Yes, I know you did; and so does Mr. Birling, so please, stop loudly pointing out how much unlike the centre of Africa everything is," Carolyn persuaded.

The car door opened, "All right. What on earth is going on?" Mr Birling asked.

"No, no. No, no. Everything's fine. It's all fixed," Carolyn assured.

"How is it fixed? You haven't done anything. You've just stood there talking. No, there's something very odd going on here. The idiot boy is right. This is a very big hill for a desert. What's going on?" Mr Birling questioned.

"Nothing," Carolyn, Douglas, Martin and Flora dismissed simultaneously

"You're very quiet suddenly," Mr Birling stated, looking at Arthur, who whimpered. "I said, what's going on?" Mr Birling asked. Arthur whined. "What. Is. Going. On?" Mr Birling interrogated.

"Nothing! Nothing's going on! We're in Timbuktu, and everything's totally normal and you can get pizzas anywhere these days, and camels are really shy actually and it's nothing like Sardinia, which I've never been to, and I'm not going to, and I'm definitely not in now!" Arthur was hysterical.

"Arthur! Stop talking!" Carolyn ordered.

"I don't think I can remember how!" Arthur panicked, high-pitched and rapid.

"Arthur, please!" Flora begged.

"Someone else say something! Anything!" Carolyn implored.

"Er, er, er, er … Oh, look over there, Mr. Birling! From up here, you can see the sea!" Martin exclaimed.

"The sea?" Mr Birling asked grimly.

"Oh Martin…" Flora groaned.

"Well, maybe not quite anything," Douglas sighed.


	12. Chapter 12

Douglas held up the _real_ whiskey. "… The Talisker-Talisker," He announced proudly.

"Mr Birling! Please! No!" Flora yelled from outside the door. Martin and Douglas ran out as fast as they could, closely followed by Carolyn and Arthur.

Mr Birling was holding Flora against him, kissing her neck. Her eyes were wide and terrified and she was whimpering slightly, breathing heavily. "Get off her!" Martin yelled.

Douglas said nothing. He surged forward, ripping Mr Birling's hands off Flora's blazer. She stumbled off as fast as she could, landing in Arthur's arms, crying silently.

Douglas dragged Mr Birling up by the scruff of his neck and punched him in the face, sending him sprawled on the floor. "You bastard!" Douglas growled.

Martin dragged the disgusting man up, kicking him in the shins and repeatedly kneeing him in the groin.

Martin hauled him to the plane's door and pulled him, Mr Birling flopping like a rag doll, but still conscious. Martin threw him onto the tarmac. "You come near her again, I'll kill you. Don't even think I'm joking; I will literally kill you. You deserve to be pushed through one of GERTI's engines. God knows I'd do it. Get your own flight back, and stay away from us!"

Martin left Mr Birling slumped on the ground, nursing his own black eye and dapping a handkerchief on his split lip.

"Flora? Are you alright?" Martin asked, entering the plane again.

"I-I'm fine..." Flora stuttered, "Just-just scared."

"Come here," Martin gently transferred her from Arthur's arms to his and she nuzzled into his uniform jacket, the warm scent comforting her as the tears fell. "You're going to be fine, Flora. If Mr Birling comes near you again, I'll kill him."

Arthur, Carolyn and Douglas stared at Martin; surely he was joking? No, he wasn't. They could all see that he was serious.

Douglas, although he wanted nothing more than to embrace Flora, smell her hair, comfort her; he knew when he wasn't needed. "I'll get us ready for take off..."


End file.
